


A National Ode

by lady_slice



Series: Memoirs from a Good Doctor [5]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_slice/pseuds/lady_slice
Summary: "I say this without hesitation: Holmes loves a good chase, especially when he has the upper hand..."After a slow month, a thief has made off with some priceless paintings, sending Sherlock and John on a chase steeped in history and petty revenge. John knows that Sherlock is planning a grand reveal as his companion enjoys chasing the thief more than solving the actual case.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Memoirs from a Good Doctor [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640503
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	A National Ode

_August 12, 1891,_

_I say this without hesitation: Holmes loves a good chase, especially when he has the upper hand. I remember this was most apparent in a case concerning a “master” thief. The thief had stolen a series of priceless artifacts all in connection to British-French military history. However, as we progressed through the case, Holmes was being the most elusive he had ever been._

_The thief’s motivations were puzzling, but I could sense that Holmes was enjoying the chase more than solving the case, which became an issue as I tried to get him to slow down and rest after a serious fall. And of course, being the man that he is, Holmes refused, pressing onward until he caught the thief in the act…_

* * *

“All right, Watson. Here are the facts.”

John sighed heavily as he held a bag full of ice against his bruised forehead. He was sitting across from Sherlock in their sitting room, watching his companion shuffle about in front of a board filed with newspaper clippings, notes, and photos all tied together with pieces of string.

“Holmes, can we take a break? Also, is your leg all right? You took a pretty hard fall.”

Sherlock stood still before turning around slowly to face John, limping on his right leg as he turned. He grimaced as he defiantly rested his hands on his hips.

“Watson, we cannot rest now. We are in pursuit and very close to our target. Besides…” Sherlock limped back around to face their deduction board, “…I would not have fallen if my ever-faithful companion hadn’t taken a tumble.”

John scoffed as he rose from his chair to join Sherlock at the board, flinching in pain the entire trip. “I thought I had seen our man, Holmes. I shouted for you not to follow.”

Sherlock turned sharply with a wince to face John. “And leave you in a crumpled pile on the scaffolding of Saint Paul’s? I must be a terrible companion then.”

John sighed again, hanging his head low; he knew Sherlock would work on the case all night so there was no use in trying to get him to rest.

“Also, Watson, this thief has been giving us less time until his next target. We don’t have the time to rest.”

John nodded, although he was annoyed with having been reminded of the little time they had to catch the thief. He turned to face the board as Sherlock limped to the fireplace to retrieve his smoking pipe.

“His first stop was the British Museum…,” John began relaying the details of the case with another heavy sigh, “…a conservator found a strange poem on the back of a published print displaying an etching of the bust of Lord Nelson.”

“Yes…Lestrade called us in after he had trouble deciphering the poem…” Sherlock added, now huddled on the sofa, smoking his pipe.

“The Battle of Trafalgar…,” John began again, “which led us then to Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery.” He tapped on a map of London, tracing a finger from the British museum to the art museum.

“…there he only took one painting… _The Fighting Temeraire—_ ”

“Turner’s enduring symbol of British resilience.” Sherlock quickly added.

John ignored him as he continued. “We then went to Turner’s final resting place, Saint Paul’s, where, I might add, we would have gotten our man if you hadn't slowed the chase, Holmes.” As he spoke, John turned to stare indignantly at Sherlock who seemed unbothered by the provocation.

“Dear,” Sherlock was lying on his back, “are we here to fuss about or catch this shrewd thief?”

John rolled his eyes. This entire case had been a nightmare from the start. Sherlock would race forward then slow down to think at the most unsuitable time, which was costing them precious time to respond to the thief’s next move. Other times, Sherlock would refuse to rest, and John knew he would be neglecting his responsibilities as a doctor and a companion if he didn’t get Sherlock’s leg examined.

John closed his eyes shut, counting to himself as he listened to Sherlock hum loudly to himself as he waited for John to finish summarizing their findings. After another moment, John opened his eyes slowly with an exhale before tapping on one of their potential stops.

“While otherwise occupied, it appeared that the thief had taken off with the _Light of the World_ …” John posed thoughtfully before turning to face Sherlock who now looked to be taking a nap.

“Holmes, I am at a lost. Besides a connection from the poem to Saint Paul’s and the stolen painting, I am not entirely sure if I understand our thief’s motive.”

Instead of responding right away, Sherlock sat up straight on the sofa. He blinked a few times before sighing, slowly swinging his feet out in front of him to rise from the sofa, taking his time before limping to the fireplace to lean against.

“Really, Watson…” he puffed a few times on his pipe, “I think the clues are evident and obvious…”

John tried to prevent himself from expressing annoyance coupled with amazement. Although he loved Holmes dearly, often his companion’s over self-satisfaction with his remarkable ability of deduction irked John to no end.

“Who’s buried at Saint Paul’s?” Sherlock said out loud, but the question sounded rhetoric.

John rolled his eyes again. “Besides Turner?”

Sherlock nodded. “Besides Turner…” He repeated as he limped toward their deduction board. Sherlock used his pipe to point to the British Museum.

“Lord Nelson.” Sherlock clarified.

John rested his hands on his hips. “What does the _Light of the World_ have to do with Lord Nelson?”

Sherlock laughed to himself. “Absolutely nothing, dear. It’s a distraction, of course.” He tried turning around quickly, now hobbling back to the sofa to lie down again.

John watched Sherlock struggle to lie down on the sofa without expressing his aches and pains.

“Our thief is obsessed with military history then?”

“ _British-French_ military history, to be exact.” Sherlock corrected, now resting with one hand over his forehead as the other hung out away from the sofa.

Gladstone, who was sleeping in his bed nestled next to the fireplace, perked up before walking over to Sherlock to lick his hand.

“Watson, did you forget to feed the dog?” Sherlock sharply accused.

John shook his head as he turned to face the board again. “Holmes, you know the routine. I have the mornings and you have the evenings.”

Sherlock grunted an incomprehensible reply as he took his time rising from the sofa before walking over to Gladstone’s food bowl.

“…but what is the most puzzling now is this stanza the thief left behind at Saint Paul’s…clearly it is not his own…” John pointed to a few lines of a poem scribbled out on their board.

“…to watch the frigates scattered around, like birds upon the wing; yet know, they only wait your will—it is a glorious thing…”

“Letitia Elizabeth Landon’s poem about Lord Collingwood or Baron Collingwood to be precise.” Sherlock answered as he hobbled over to his bookcase.

John followed Sherlock with his eyes. “Lord Collingwood? So, our thief is obsessed with the Battle of Trafalgar.”

Sherlock nodded as his body bobbed up and down along the bookcase until he found the book he was searching for. “I think obsession doesn’t even begin to describe it, my dear Watson.”

John stared at Sherlock, lost by the comment as Sherlock began humming to himself once more as he looked through the book he was holding. After a second or two, he closed the book which produced a quiet thud filled with dust that had settled on the barely used book.

“On to Morpeth, dear!” Sherlock limped quickly to retrieve their coats, but he groaned in pain as he crossed the room.

“Morpeth?” John, a bit stronger than Sherlock considering he had sustained less injuries from the fall, walked ahead of him to get their coats, “Holmes, it’ll take half the day to get to Morpeth and we’re running out of time.”

Sherlock accepted his coat with a coy grin. “Then we mustn’t waste any more time then, dear. On to Morpeth!”

Sherlock turned to walk toward the door, but the turn caused him to groan in excruciating pain. John moved to help him, but Sherlock waved him off.

“Holmes, please.” John pleaded.

Sherlock shook his head. “Watson, please hail us a hansom…” he limped back to the sofa, lying down as he groaned some more, “…just call for me when it arrives…thank you, dear.”

John sighed, knowing that Sherlock would remained stubborn on the subject of traveling to the other side of the country.

“Fine, but I’m not happy about this.” John wagged a finger at Sherlock before opening the door.

“Watson, I don’t need a nanny!” John heard Sherlock shout to him as he walked into the hallway.

* * *

_Hours later…_

John attempted to help Sherlock limp up to a beautifully restored brick house, but Sherlock swatted his hand away.

“Watson, stop making a scene.” Sherlock walked ahead of John, but he nearly toppled over from his leg injury. He then limped dramatically to the entrance, greeting a couple as they exited the house.

“Glad to know that Lord Collingwood’s house is still in order.” John quipped as he followed Sherlock up to a tiny desk in the main hallway of the house. There was a guide sitting at the desk, looking through some documents. As soon as she noticed Sherlock and John, she quickly rounded the desk to greet them.

“Hello,” the guide greeted as Sherlock and John approached the desk, “how may I help you?”

Sherlock nodded at the guide with a genuine smile. “Do you receive many visitors?”

The guide nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed, sir. Mostly academics of course.”

Sherlock’s expression contorted with satisfaction. “That seems unsurprising. May we see the visitor log?”

The guide nodded again as she directed Sherlock and John to the reception desk. She walked behind the desk to grab the log.

“Here you are, sir.” She smiled at John and Sherlock as she opened the book to that day’s date.

Sherlock smiled back as he turned the book around to look at the pages right side up.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” The guide offered before walking away from the desk to inspect a small exhibit displayed in the hallway.

“Now then…” Sherlock ran a finger down the log pages.

“Holmes, I doubt our man would have signed in before taking anything from this house…” John whispered as he leaned in to look at the log.

Sherlock chuckled, clearly amused, as he waved a hand around. “Of course not, dear. But he’s certainly been here before if he’s obsessed with the Battle of Trafalgar…Miss?” Sherlock kept his eyes on the log, continuing to run a finger down the pages as he addressed the guide, “could we also see your donation list?”

The near empty space was so quiet that Sherlock’s voice echoed. The guide turned away from the exhibit, walking briskly back to the desk. She searched around the desk until she found another book.

“Here it is, sir.”

Sherlock smiled again as he accepted the book. “Thank you.”

John scooted closer to Sherlock as they perused the book.

“Let’s look for repeats in the visitor book and then match the names to donations in this book…” Sherlock instructed.

John nodded as he took the donations book while Sherlock looked through the visitor log.

“Okay, let’s see…William Wheeler…” Sherlock began.

“Made a donation last month and this month. Quite a few in the past.” John answered.

“John Plunket.”

“Last donation was received about three weeks ago and that was his first donation ever.”

“Albert Kleinschmidt.”

“Mr. Kleinschmidt gave the museum a few donations in the past, but not recently.”

“And John Saxon.”

“He’s made a few donations also and one last month.”

Sherlock closed the visitor book. “Have you noted a particular pattern yet, Watson?”

John glanced at Sherlock before looking back down at the donation book. “Well, it appears that all of these academics listed the University of London as their affiliation.”

Sherlock patted John on the back. “And?”

John stared blankly at Sherlock. “And what, Holmes? What are you trying to get at?”

Sherlock chuckled as he spun away from the desk to head toward the guide and the display case, limping on his bad leg.

“My dear Watson. It seems as if you’ve forgotten the affinity toward charity your alma mater encourages in her graduates. Perhaps you missed the memo?”

John rolled his eyes as he jogged to catch up with Sherlock, but then slowed down as the pain shot through his own leg.

“I contribute just fine. Don’t I always pay your street informants off for you?”

Sherlock laughed heartily. “You do indeed, dear. Miss?”

The guide turned around quickly once she heard Sherlock address her. “Yes, sir?”

“You say that your lovely museum attracts many academics, helping with the historical interpretation, no doubt?”

The guide nodded. “Why yes, sir, actually…” She motioned for John and Sherlock to follow her to a tiny room off to the side of the main central hallway, “we had two historians from the University of London working on an exhibit on Lord Collingwood’s role in the Battle of Trafalgar.”

“Had?” Sherlock asked.

The guide nodded. “I wasn’t on duty when it became official, but the museum hired another historian to replace the two.”

Sherlock expressed surprise. “Really? That’s unfortunate. Pray tell what the reasoning was behind it?”

“I believe the two historians hired first had bickered with each other over the direction of the exhibit. So, the director thought it would be easier to hire a new one.”

Sherlock grinned as he looked at John then back at the guide. “How untimely. Do you remember the names of these two battling historians?”

The guide nodded. “Yes, Wheeler and Saxon, I believe.”

“Ah!” Sherlock slapped John on the back a little too hard. He thanked the guide for her time before walking briskly out of the house to hail a hansom.

“Holmes? What now?” John asked as he jogged to catch up.

“Onward to Baker Street!” Sherlock shouted with glee.

* * *

_Later that night…_

“Holmes, I am still at a lost…”

Sherlock and John were standing in front of their deduction board. Mrs. Hudson had sent in their supper, but it sat untouched on the breakfast table.

“Watson, please. You’re carrying on like a broken phonograph.” Sherlock limped slightly to sit in a chair next to the fireplace.

John sighed as he walked toward the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt. “I think we should get a good night’s rest, Holmes.”

“And we only have less than 12 hours before the next heist, but of course, let’s waste time by sleeping.” Sherlock shouted back.

John ignored his companion’s tone as he lite the oil lamp next to their bed. “Okay, if we sleep for a few hours, we’ll be okay.” He let out a relaxed sigh as he laid down on the bed, his body still aching from the day’s events.

Sherlock appeared in the room, watching John trying to relax.

“Holmes? Are you going to join me or just stand there?”

Sherlock huffed as he unbuttoned his shirt before joining John in the bed. As soon as he was near the edge, John reached out for him, hugging him close to his body as soon as he was on the bed.

“This is nice, isn’t it, dear?” John whispered as he hugged Sherlock tighter.

Sherlock groaned as he let John gently push him down into the bed. John straddled Sherlock, leaning downward to kiss him. Sherlock paused as John kissed his neck, clearly annoyed that he had been called to bed so early with a case on the line.

But before John kissed Sherlock once more, he held still, holding him down, looking at him intently.

“I know you’re doing it on purpose.”

Sherlock feigned shock as he wiggled underneath John. “Why, dear, I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

John grinned slightly. He looked away at nothing before returning his gaze onto Sherlock. “You’re being elusive on purpose in order to have the upper hand.”

Sherlock’s mouth dropped as he shuffled underneath John to sit up on his elbows. “Watson, I cannot believe you’re accusing me of withholding information. Why would I do such a thing?” He pointed to himself, making it clear that he was put off by the comment.

John laughed. “Because, dear, you’re enjoying chasing this thief. The month leading up until now had been relatively quiet and you’re taking advantage of it.” He then turned over onto his back, crossing his arms behind his head as he chuckled to himself.

“Honestly, I should have seen it from the beginning…” John vaguely explained. Sherlock was shuffling around next to him, still acting as if he didn’t know what John was talking about.

“…the poem in Lestrade’s office…,” John began with a sly smile, “I was the one who first suggested the connection to Trafalgar…”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Okay, so you managed to decipher a poorly structured poem written by our thief.”

“And,” John held up a finger, “I correctly guessed that he would strike at the National Gallery. And I was right, because _The Fighting Temeraire_ went missing.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. “Too bad you _guessed_ so late. Would have been nice to use your newfound deduction skills earlier.”

John laughed, which annoyed Sherlock even more. “ _And_ , I figured out that he would be at Saint Paul’s. Now…,” John turned onto his side to grin at Sherlock who looked more irritated than John had ever seen him.

“…please tell me what you’re hiding. I know you’ve uncovered the crucial piece to this puzzle, but are being quiet about it on purpose for a grand reveal that will out show all the work done thus far. It’s never good to keep secrets, my dear Holmes.”

Sherlock sighed as he crossed his arms, sitting up in the bed. “Why don’t you draw your own conclusions then, my dear Watson? You appear to have the upper hand in this case.”

John eyed Sherlock, evidently unconvinced, but Sherlock barely budged. John then grinned as he reached over to kiss Sherlock on his cheek, moving his hand downward to caress the side of his body.

Sherlock let John kiss him again, but he looked away. “Watson, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

John laughed as he moved inward more to straddle Sherlock, but before going any further, the two men heard a loud knock at their door out in the sitting room.

John perked up. “I hope Mrs. Hudson is all right at such a late—”

He was swiftly interrupted by Sherlock wiggling away underneath him, shaking his head as he propelled his body from the bed and out of the room.

“I’m afraid it is not our dear Mrs. Hudson!” John heard Sherlock shout back at him.

Extremely confused by his companion’s behavior, but told himself that he shouldn’t be, John sighed as he got up from the bed to follow Sherlock. He found Sherlock opening the door to reveal one of the neighborhood children who led what Sherlock affectionally referred to as the “Baker Street Irregulars.”

“Ah! Mr. Wiggins!” Sherlock greeted the child.

Wiggins nodded, taking his hat off as he looked up at Sherlock. “You wanted to see me, Mr. ‘olmes?”

Sherlock nodded emphatically. “Indeed, Mr. Wiggins…” He motioned for Wiggins to follow him to his writing desk in the corner by the door.

“…please ask your friends…” Sherlock scribbled something down on a piece of paper, “if they have received any charitable donations in the past day or so.”

Wiggins nodded as he accepted the note from Sherlock. “Right away, Mr. ‘olmes!”

Sherlock nodded back as he turned to address John. “Watson, please pay Wiggins half of his finder’s fee. He’ll receive the other half once he finds what I need.” He winked at Wiggins who looked delighted.

John grumbled, but he did as he was told, fishing around in the pocket of his pants for Wiggin’s usual compensation.

“Thanks, Mr. ‘olmes!” Wiggins responded gleefully before turning around to sprint out of the sitting room.

John glared at Sherlock. “And of course, I do all the work, but you get all the credit.”

Sherlock laughed as he beckoned John to follow him back to their bedroom. “Why, Watson. Don’t you want to try to find out what I’m apparently keeping hidden from you? We have so little time left before our thief strikes again.”

John stayed put as he watched Sherlock enter their room. He knew he would have to do more to get Sherlock to open up yet figured the venture would also be a great opportunity to let off some steam with some sort of relief. Also, he had managed to get Sherlock to rest, which was always difficult especially when his companion was deep in a case.

“Right away, dear.” John smiled to himself as he followed Sherlock into their room.

* * *

_Very early the next morning…_

John groaned as he turned over onto his back, reaching out an arm to the side of the bed Sherlock usually slept on, but it was empty. John sat up in the bed yawning as he looked around the room. He slowly took his time getting out of the bed before entering the sitting room, finding Sherlock finishing breakfast.

“Ah! Watson! Good, you’re awake.” Sherlock jumped out of his chair to grab their coats.

“We have little time,” he threw John his coat, “we must get to the residence of William Wheeler.”

John stared at Sherlock as the latter whirled around him gathering their things. “Wheeler? That’s our thief?”

“No time to explain!” Sherlock came up from behind John to push him out of the sitting room, down the stairs and outside their building. They found a hansom already waiting for them.

John looked around aimlessly, puzzled by Sherlock’s urgency. “Holmes? What in the—”

“Get in the cab, Watson! I’ll explain when we get there.”

“And where are we going?” John inquired as he nearly toppled over from the force of Sherlock shoving him inside the hansom.

“Have you always been this inquisitive? Trust my methods, dear. We shall catch our thief in the act!”

John, struggling to put his coat on as the morning cold sent shivers down his spine, sighed as he sank down into his seat. Sherlock instructed the driver where to take them and they were whisked away to the residence of William Wheeler.

* * *

Not long after, Sherlock and John arrived at their destination. Sherlock walked up to the entrance of the house, motioning for John to follow before knocking on the door.

John looked around the property, still in a daze of confusion. “Holmes, for god’s sake. What on earth are you doing?”

“Distract whoever answers the door. I’m going around to the back…”

John tried to stop Sherlock before he could get away. “Holmes! Wait!”

The front door opened slowly as Wheeler’s butler answered. “Yes, may I help you?”

John shuffled around awkwardly. “Uh, yes. Is, uh, Mr. Wheeler home?”

* * *

_On the other side of the house…_

Sherlock hugged his body up against the exterior of the house as he approached a window looking into the study. He crouched down before straightening up, spotting a figure rummaging around in a desk inside the room. Sherlock fished around in his coat until he found an instrument he usually used to pry open windows and doors. He then carefully unlatched the window, hopping effortlessly through the window to land lightly on his feet.

“You’re a very difficult man to track down, Saxon.”

The figure stopped what he was doing before turning around slowly to face Sherlock. He was holding a piece of wood.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes. It appears that your quicker than expected.”

Sherlocked grinned as he eyed Saxon. “I’ll admit you gave me a run, but I’m afraid that your kindness toward the needy was your downfall.”

Saxon’s expression changed, clearly confused by Sherlock’s comment. “Whatever do you mean?”

Sherlock laughed as he walked further into the room. “I found a torn piece of a coat in the scaffolding at Saint Paul’s. It was covered in chalk, so I surmised that perhaps we were dealing with someone who works in a university. The erudite references to history and such could only come from an enthusiast or a trained historian such as yourself…”

Saxon stared back at Sherlock; his expression remained stoic.

“Following the thread led us to Lord Collingwood’s house where you worked for some time, but I can only give all the credit to one of my best informants in matching your name to the coat. I commend you on taking the time to give someone in need your torn coat while giving Scotland Yard a run…that was _quite_ generous of you considering the situation.”

Saxon’s expression was now a mixture between surprise and frustration as he realized such an obvious mistake that marred his otherwise perfectly executed plan.

“If you knew I would be here, why haven’t you brought the police?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I have informed the police and they’re on their way, yet I wanted to be able to meet personally the man who’s been terrorizing London’s historic cultural landscape for the last few days.”

Saxon turned instantly angry. “Terrorizing? I am an educator, Mr. Holmes! I only meant to get what I was owed.”

Sherlock laughed. “Right, that piece of wood you got there? Sending the police all over London was a decoy, wasn’t it?" He pointed to the wood object on top of the desk.

“Piece of wood?” Saxon looked quite offended, “Don’t you see, Mr. Holmes, this is not just _any_ piece of wood. It came from the HMS Victory. Nelson’s flagship in the Battle of Trafalgar.”

Saxon then adjusted his eyeglasses before taking a moment to walk over to one of the windows looking into the study to gaze outside. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he watched the scene unfold before him.

“…you must know this well, Mr. Holmes. You’re in expert in your field, but I can only imagine the pushback you constantly receive from Scotland Yard because of your…unique methods…”

Sherlock shrugged. “Scotland Yard and Inspector Lestrade tend to get in the way of my work, so yes, I can empathize.”

Saxon turned slightly to smile unnervingly at Sherlock. “A long time ago I was highly respected in my field. I was the preeminent military historian…but…Wheeler took all that away from me…”

But before Sherlock could answer him, Saxon lunged toward him, taking him to the ground. They wrestled around with each other, knocking over some of the priceless artifacts in Wheeler’s study.

* * *

_At the front door…_

“…well, uh, could you let Mr. Wheeler know that I came by—”

John was interrupted by a loud crash coming from down the hallway. The butler wasted little time as he ran toward the source of the crash with John following closely behind. The butler stopped at a intricate wood paneled door, throwing it open to reveal Saxon and Sherlock wrestling with each other on the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?” The butler shouted but was pushed to the side as John ran into the room to help Sherlock detain Saxon.

As John reached for Saxon, he tripped over Sherlock’s leg, hitting the floor face first as Sherlock managed to get a better grip on Saxon.

“Give up, Saxon! There’s no use in struggling!”

“All right! Break it up, gentlemen. Break it up!” Lestrade had appeared in the study followed by some fellow policemen and another man.

Lestrade grabbed Saxon away from Sherlock, handing him to the policemen. Sherlock straightened himself out as he helped John up from the floor.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock walked over to the desk to pick up the piece of the HMS Victory, “here’s your thief. Also, nice to make your acquaintance, Dr. Wheeler.” He motioned toward the man who had entered the study with Lestrade.

Wheeler jumped out of the way of Saxon thrashing around with the police. “What in the world is going on? I was only informed of this this morning. Saxon?”

Saxon barely acknowledged him as he continued to struggle before he was dragged out of the room. Soon after, Sherlock walked to the middle of the study; from the look on Sherlock’s face, John knew full well that they were about to hear Sherlock’s grand revelation concerning the case.

“Lestrade, were those paintings returned this morning?”

Lestrade nodded. “Yes, Holmes. Just like you said.”

Sherlock grinned as he held out the piece of the HMS Victory. “Dr. Saxon’s only goal was to get this piece of British history. Those paintings he managed to walk off with were only distractions from the very beginning. My companion and I,” Sherlock winked at John before pacing back and forth, “tracked him to Lord Collingwood’s house and soon after it was discovered that Saxon had given the coat he was wearing when he obtained _The Light of the World_ to a child in need—graduates from the University of London are known for their generous charity—Saxon then returned the paintings he had stolen to the police this morning before coming here…”

Sherlock stopped pacing. “And _why_ would he do such a thing?” He looked at Wheeler who looked incensed.

“Please don’t tell me Saxon’s the one who’s been stealing priceless artifacts because we had a ‘tiff’ over that damned exhibit at the Collingwood House. _He_ was the one causing delays, but I’m sure he’s told you something different.” Wheeler rolled his eyes.

Sherlock laughed as both John and Lestrade looked at each other with confused expressions. “Yes, that’s _exactly_ what he did and _why_ he did it. You should treat your colleagues better, Dr. Wheeler.”

Wheeler grumbled some more about Saxon and the police being at his house so early in the morning as Sherlock walked over to pat John on the back before walking out of the study.

“Come, Watson. I do believe we both deserve some rest.”

John looked at Wheeler and Lestrade before following Sherlock out of the room who was ambling in the hallway to the outside. John ran up to him to support him by the arm.

“Well, dear, I hope you’re happy now. You got your chase and your grand reveal.” John teased as he helped Sherlock out of the house.

“Watson, please. I’m too exhausted to…” Sherlock waved a hand around instead of completing his sentence.

John laughed again. “Let’s get you back to Baker Street so you can rest.” He kissed Sherlock on the top of his head before helping him into the hansom that had been waiting for them.

Sherlock slumped into the seat. “I’m only going because I want to.”

John patted him on the leg. “Yes, of course, dear.”

“You may also examine my injury when we get home, Watson. But be gentle, please…” Sherlock huddled up against John who gave him a careful hug.

“Yes, of course, dear.” John smiled as he kissed the top of Sherlock’s head once more.


End file.
